“Two-eight-zero,” he said.
Two seconds later, Conover said, “Two-eight-zero.”
“Mark Two!”
McKenna nudged the hand controller forward, and when the HUD showed him minus forty degrees, eased it back to center and held it. He pulled the throttles full back and noted that the MakoShark began to lose speed steadily, though slowly.
“Arm me, Snake Eyes.”
McKenna reached for the armaments panel, selected both pylons, the gun pod, the four missiles, and armed all of them.
“The birds are yours, Tiger.”
“Gracias.”
The altimeter readout sped through the numbers, 60,000, 55,000, 50,000.
As they passed through 45,000 feet, Conover radioed, “Yellow’s got turbojets. All green. Cameras are primed.”
At 30,000 feet, Munoz called, “Mark three!”
McKenna deployed the speed brakes.
“Bring the nose up to minus three-zero,” Munoz said on the tactical frequency, so Conover could hear the instruction.
McKenna pulled back on the hand controller.
When they were slowed to Mach 1.5, and at 18,000 feet, Munoz went to active radar. The screen in front of McKenna lit up with returns off the sea, off wells and ships, and off two blips to the northwest.
“Countin’, countin’, countin’,” Munoz said, then switched the radar to standby. “Three-five to target. We got bogies at three-four-six, one-zero-thousand feet, and five-seven miles.”
Speed Mach 1.1.
“What’s the heading on the bogies?”
“Due east. They’re right over the ice platforms.”
“We going to intercept on zero-one-five?” McKenna asked.
“Damned close, Snake Eyes. I didn’t have time to read them for speed, but they’re subsonic.”
“Con Man, on pullout, go to zero-two-five.”
“Roger zero-two-five, Snake Eyes.”
Speed 600 knots.
“I want one more time on active, jefe.”
“Go.”
The screen displayed the radar scan for two sweeps, then reverted to the night-vision image.
McKenna saw a green dome against the lighter green sea.
“Come right two degrees.”
Nudge of the hand controller. The HUD showed 282 degrees.
“That’s the IP… Mark! Hang on to that headin’. Lose the brakes, Snake Eyes.”
Platform fourteen flashed under them.
McKenna brought the speed brakes in as the readout gave him 445 knots.
“We’ve still got five-five-zero-zero altitude, Tiger.”
“Two thou should be about right.”
McKenna put the nose down a little, trading altitude for maintaining his airspeed.
The throttles were still at the back detents. Infrared production from the jet engines would be negligible.
“Do-Wop, you getting an IR off me?” McKenna asked. The MakoShark aerospace craft were equipped with infrared search and tracking sensors that had an effective range of fifty miles.
“Hell, Snake Eyes, you’re two miles ahead of us, give or take a mile, and I can’t see you on the night vision, much less the IR tracker. No output at all.”
On the other side of the canopy, off to his left, McKenna could see a scattering of red strobe lights from the other wells. The running lights of three ships were ten or twelve miles away to the east.
Ahead, the aircraft warning light of well number eight was coming up fast.
He glanced at the screen. Using his helmet-aiming system, Munoz had the bomb sight high-centered on the dome in seven-power magnification.
As they approached, the WSO kept dropping the magnification.
At ten miles from target, the screen went to normal magnification. The upper-left corner lettering on the CRT flickered as the computer made its calculations, then read: TARGET: 8.17 MILES.
“Any time, Tiger.”
“Give it a couple more miles, jefe. We’re not gonna be flyin’ through debris.”
At six miles out, Munoz switched the screen image to the first Wasp, then launched.
Four white flares flashed in the corners of McKenna’s eyes as the Wasps left the rails. Immediately, the missiles separated, following the instructions imbedded in their brains. Munoz guided with the first Wasp, and the others stuck close to it.
The green dome loomed larger on the screen.
The number one, guided, Wasp was the left one of the four fiery trails now two miles ahead of the Mako-Shark.
Shifting his head, Munoz steered the missile slightly left, toward the left upper side of the dome. The other missiles obediently shifted to the left also.
The lights on the helicopter pad flashed on.
McKenna watched ahead and to his left for the patrol aircraft.
“Looks to me like their radar picked up the incoming, Tiger.”
“/
“I’d think so, if they’re on the ball at all,” Munoz said. “Betcha they’re so damned rattled, they don’t know what to do about it.”
“Those German pilots might know.”
He glanced back at the screen just as the Wasps detonated. The screen went black, then green again as the MakoShark’s own camera took over. Bright greenish-white flash as all of them went off simultaneously.
“Let’s get out of Con Man’s way,” Munoz said.
McKenna pulled into a right bank and started to climb, his speed decreasing, but that was all right. The last sight of the dome on the screen showed him a distance to target of 3.7 miles and black gaps appearing in the dome’s upper surface.
“Get me a location on the hostiles,” McKenna said.
Munoz went to active radar. “Shit. Bogies are headin’ in. Tornados, I think. I read ’em fourteen out and diving. Nine-five-zero-zero. Speed seven-zero-zero knots.”
Munoz switched out of active mode.
Jack Abrams came on, “I’ve been scanning the local marine channels, Snake Eyes. There’s a hell of a lot of excited German chatter.”
“Okay, Do-Wop. You continue with your pass. I’m going to get behind you, then divert the Tornados.”
“Delta Blue, this is Semaphore.”
General Brackman’s voice was very steady and very well modulated over the scrambled, satellite-relayed network.
“Go Semaphore.”
“Be extremely careful. Favor to me?”
“Granted, Semaphore.”
McKenna turned left, diving below and across the line of flight of Delta Yellow. He advanced his throttles until the readout gave him 700 knots. Watching the chronometer on the HUD, he estimated when Conover passed over him, then turned right again, paralleling Conover at 282 degrees, but a mile to his left.
“Let’s go over, Tiger.”
“Now? Are you sh… oh, hell yes!”
Skimming through the checklist, McKenna had rockets in ten seconds. He shoved the outboard throttles full forward and felt himself shoved back into his couch.
“Radar, Tiger.”
“Comin’ up.”
On thirty-mile scan, the screen showed the Tornados eight miles away.
He applied right rudder to lead their line of flight and pulled the controller back to gain some height.
Mach 1.9.
“Under or over, amigo.”
“Under. They may still never see us.”
“They’re about four miles from Yellow. Now at five thousand.” It was a guess since Munoz couldn’t track Conover.
Three miles.
Mach 2.4.
Two miles.
Mach 2.8.
One mile.
McKenna killed the rockets as Munoz went to night vision on the screen.
The two Tornados were displaying running lights and were a hundred yards apart, in echelon formation, almost exactly in the center of the screen.
Half mile.
More right rudder. A touch.
Mach 2.7.
McKenna edged his nose down a trifle.
The Tornado pilots were probably scanning the immediate area of well number eight for an attacker. They did not — could not — see the MakoShark coming up out of the darkness of the sea. If they had, they would have taken evasive action.